


Flight Risk

by anythingbutblue



Category: Lost
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-26
Updated: 2012-07-26
Packaged: 2017-11-10 18:36:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/469393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anythingbutblue/pseuds/anythingbutblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kate and Sawyer discover a common bond named Cassidy.  Nothing is ever easy.  </p><p>(Each section of this story is meant to be tucked between scenes of "Eggtown" in season four.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flight Risk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [r_lee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/r_lee/gifts).



Kate finds herself sitting in a chair in the hatch, faced by twelve familiar faces in their own chairs. Patsy's playing on the record player behind her, Patsy over and over and over again: _People point us out and shake their heads in shame, in gossip circles we are talked about_.

There's Ana-Lucia and Libby and Eko, Desmond, Charlie, John, Hurley, Sun and Jin, Claire, Sawyer, Jack. In a bigger chair, just a few feet from her, Ben Linus sits like a king on a throne, and his eyes only shift away from her so they can focus on the man in a suit in front of her.

"Fraud," the man announces, "arson, assault on a Federal officer, assault with a deadly weapon--" She recognizes his voice before he turns to face her, but recognition doesn't stop the sick feeling creeping into her gut when she meets Edward's eyes. The smell of freshly brewed coffee reaches her nose. "Does anyone want coffee?" Edward continues. "We could be here a while."

The dream dissolves as she sits up, blinking against the stripe of sunlight beaming in between the curtains, but the smell of coffee remains. Her hand rakes through her hair, and for a moment she thinks about hopping into Claire's shower, taking advantage of this fully powered house, but she doesn't think she wants to get used to it.

Sawyer was right that these homes are appealing. She doesn't blame him for not wanting to go back to whatever life he was leading before he ended up here and every minute she's been in this house she's felt an ache for the normalcy provided by its couches and lamps and beds and running water. But this island can never be home. Not with a smoke monster prowling the jungle in search of prey. Not with Ben's people out there somewhere, maybe planning to return to their community one day.

Not without a guaranteed way off.

She pulls on the same pants and tank top she wore yesterday. They belonged to someone else once upon a time, but they fit her pretty well. Combing back her hair with her fingers, she pulls it into a ponytail before she goes downstairs, her nose leading her to the kitchen.

"Smells _delicious_."

With Aaron's chin drooping against her shoulder, Claire turns around to smile. "It tastes good, too." Her hands are occupied, one arm supporting the baby's weight while her free hand pats his back, but she points by tipping her head. "Clean cups in the far left cabinet over the sink. Help yourself."

Unable to refuse, she finds a choice mug in that far left cabinet and then pours a generous serving of hot coffee into it, reveling in the unavoidable aroma. "Hey, Claire? Can I ask you something?"

Claire smiles, curious. "Anything."

"Why'd you come with John? You care about getting off the island, don't you?"

The pretty smile on Claire's face fades a little as she digests the question, but even the sudden seriousness doesn't take away from the fact that she looks fresher and cleaner and even happier than she has in weeks. "Of course I want to _leave_. This isn't where I want Aaron to grow up. But those people on the boat, Kate, Hurley says--" She swallows, self-conscious. "Hurley says that Charlie wanted us to know they aren't who we hoped they were, and I believe it. I want to go home, of course, but I want keep Aaron safe until then. And look at this place!" Her earnest blue eyes widen. "There's a bed to sleep in and a refrigerator stocked with food. I even gave Aaron a real bath in the sink this morning."

Kate feels her lips quirk. "It is better than living on the beach."

"A lot better."

***

"James, go home."

She almost feels bad. Behind the irritation in his eyes she can see a moment's worth of hurt confusion. Even though he's been distant for the last week or so and the talk of possible pregnancies obviously had him upset, he's been different while they've been here. Almost sweet. He walked over with a grin crinkling his eyes and charm in every word, like he was a gentleman ready to court a belle.

But she's not a belle, and she's not moving in with him. She's not even staying here with Claire longer than she has to. 

Edward once accused her of having no attachments, and that's one thing he was always wrong about. She tried to have no attachments, but it's hard. It's _hard_. And when you crash on an island with a group of people and none of you can get away, there's no choice. You make attachments; it's one thing that helps you survive from day to day.

And then you hope your friends aren't picked off like Rousseau's were.

"Okay, fine. See you later then," he answers gruffly, and pushes himself off the edge of the porch.

She's glad he doesn't follow suit and make it harsher by calling her Kate instead of Freckles, but he doesn't look back like some kid desperate to know he's proving himself. He just walks to the house he's sharing with Hurley, and she watches until the front door closes behind him.

Her coffee's no longer hot enough to sizzle her tongue when she sips it, and she slumps against the back of her seat, shoulders relaxing. Sawyer may not have anything to go back for, but she doesn't think he really wants to _stay here_ when it comes right down to it. He's making the most of the situation, just like he always does.

It's time she did, too. No matter what anyone wants to believe, she was telling Sawyer the truth. She's not here for him.

She's here to find out what the people on the boat know.

***

_I really don't know, but I know it won't let me be._

John Locke doesn't care much about Patsy's pleas. He lets himself out just as easily as he let himself in. 

He can say he's not a dictator all he wants, but that's exactly what's going on here. She won't claim they've been good friends -- this isn't the first time he's proven that they're not -- but if anyone on this island would understand a personal need to do something she'd have expected John to be that person. Turns out he only understands when it's his own personal needs.

Resentment coils like a snake in her belly, wanting to strike. This isn't a town and he's not the mayor. She can't imagine Sawyer standing for this treatment. Within days he'll be back on the beach, hopefully not with another bullet wound in an arm.

But it's all right, she tells herself, taking a deep breath. Her plan was never to stay. Even now that she's found out the people on the boat know who they all are, know every crime on her record, it's all right. She'll figure out what to do.

Maybe she'll even take the advice from Sawyer and Miles into consideration. As much as she hates the idea, she knows what's going to happen if she leaves with people who know who she is. She'll be forced to trade one prison for another unless she can find a chance to break away, and even then it'll be back to square one: owning nothing, running from everyone, having her face everywhere. This time with national attention. International attention. Her face could be all over every television, every newspaper: _Fugitive Survives Plane Crash, Escapes from Rescue Party_.

How far can she get?

"Kate?"

She turns to find Claire there, hesitating.

"Is everything okay?"

There are dozens of easy answers, effortless lies, on the tip of her tongue, and they all fall short. She's told more lies in the past four years than she can count, but one person she hasn't lied to yet at all is Claire and she's not starting now. "I don't know."

Voice low, Claire steps into the room. "If there's anything I can do, you know, I'm happy to."

It's a sweet offer. It's the most comforting thing to happen all day. She sucks in another fortifying breath and wonders for just a moment if she couldn't just stay here after all. If everybody wants her around John can't make everyone unhappy. And if it's true that this boat doesn't mean rescue for them, she can stay here and help Claire. She's farmed and gardened. She could do something useful, get her hands dirty, put food on tables.

"You've let me stay here, you've found me a new outfit, you let me use your shower and eat your food." Forget the fact that Claire didn't have a shower or a fridge a few days ago. She feels her head shaking, and she offers Claire a hopelessly crooked smile. "I think I need to go. Check on Jack and everyone else. Give John time to cool off."

"Right now? Can't you wait until morning?"

"Maybe," she admits slowly. "But there's someone I've got to see first."

***

Her pants are at her ankles and his hand between her thighs before she says his name the first time.

But he's practically built a career on the art of distraction, and she likes the way he dimples up for her, the way his eyes crinkle, the scruff lining his jaw, his breath against her skin, the way he sometimes pushes her to a place where she doesn't know if she's breathless with laughter or breathless with want.

"Sawyer," she tells his hair, but his lips don't even hesitate against the curve of her neck.

" _Sawyer_ ," she repeats, a little louder, 

He hovers over her, grinning like he's never known shame a day in his life. "Freckles, I'm right here. What is it you want?"

"We have to stop."

The look on his face says he's almost never been told something like that. "Hell, sweetheart, we've barely even started." When he lowers to kiss her, he's at his most convincing.

"I know," she mumbles against his mouth, "but we should stop."

He pulls back enough to study her face, to look her in the eyes. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not in the mood."

"You could've fooled me, Freckles."

"Sorry," she mutters. Sitting up, she pushes her damp hair back away from her neck and then draws her knees up to her chest. It's like someone poured a swirling mixture of unhappy thoughts in her head and none of them gel together. They all separate, layer upon layer, and they all want attention.

"Look, you don't need to worry. I told you this is _my_ house." His hand, quietly impatient, runs across the tops of her shoulders and then down her spine. "Mine and Jabba's. You think Locke's gonna cross us? If we ain't happy, ain't nobody happy. I don't think mamacita and baby Aaron will be high-fivin' him for banishing you, either. It won't stick."

"I know." John isn't the problem. He's irritated nerves that were already exposed, but he's pretty low on the scale of problems she has right now. "It's not that."

He falls quiet for a second, at a loss. "Then what _is_ it, Freckles?"

Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she looks away from him. Her first problem is that she can't stay. Her second problem is that she can't go. If she could run over the ocean, her feet never sinking below the waves, she would. She'd run to England, to Ireland, to Puerto Rico, back to Australia. She'd run until the breath rasped from her lungs and she doubled over from the effort.

"Kate?"

Her eyes dart toward him immediately, and she shakes her head, not even knowing if she means _don't call me that_ or _I don't want to talk about it_. "I'm fine," she finally says, retreating back to easy answers and effortless lies. She knows what Sawyer thinks she should do, and until he finds a sure-fire way to get rid of black smoke, proof that the Others will never come back, and a lifetime supply of Dharma birth control, she doesn't think she can take his ideas seriously.

Sawyer lets out an audible sigh, not holding anything back, and his hand stalls on the small of her back. "Tell you what. I'm gonna get me a glass of wine. You want one?"

She tugs on her earlobe, trying to keep her fingers busy in a way that doesn't involve his skin. "That would be nice."

***

At first Kate sips her wine slowly, letting Sawyer do the bulk of the drinking, but when he disappears to refill his glass and comes back with the whole box of wine she has to laugh.

On glass two, she starts to feel tension releasing her shoulders.

"That wine workin'?"

A laugh sneaks out of her; she rolls her eyes at him. "I'm not having sex with you tonight, Sawyer."

His grin shrinks, but only by a fraction. "Then why are you still here, Freckles? Why are you still half-dressed, sitting on my bed and drinking my wine? You ain't been much of a cuddler in the past. We do our thing, you play real nice for a little while, then you run. Always sleep better in your own tent, you said."

He's got her number, and she knows it. She tips wine into her mouth and swallows, daring herself to meet his smiling know-it-all eyes. "Maybe I don't want to be alone right now."

"You wouldn't be alone at Missy Claire's. And I hear that baby's a good sleeper." He points one finger right at her lips, like he's just inviting her to say something else quotable. His fingertip inches closer and closer until it touches the corner of her mouth.

"You want to play I Never?"

His finger lowers, but his eyebrows let her know he thinks she's just trying to change the subject. "Lucky for you, I don't mind your distraction techniques."

"I'll start." Unapologetic, she smiles over her glass. "I never drank wine out of a box before today."

This time he's the one rolling his eyes and grinning, but he dutifully takes a drink. "Off to a running start, huh. How about this one: I never led a man on. Sexually speaking."

Lips pressed together, she eyes him. This game was her idea, and she takes her drink. "I never conned anyone out of their savings."

After a swallow of wine, he raises his eyebrows. "Comes with the job title, you know."

She watches him closely for a moment. "You ever regret it?"

"This game ain't about questions, Freckles."

Her lips press together in wry smile. "I never knew you cared about not breaking the rules."

The smile Sawyer uses to answer her isn't his friendliest. "Let's keep it all above the belt now, Wonder Woman. _Yes_ , I regret a few of the things I've done. Can you believe that? It's like I've got a damn _conscience_ or something." Unprompted, he drinks more of his wine. "I said a few," he points out hastily. "Not all."

"Like what?"

"No, ma'am," he tells her, settling comfortably against the headboard. "No one gets an answer like that without paying for it first."

"What do you want for it?" She knows the dangers of his agreements.

His smile he flashes her is ear-to-ear: no apologies, no warnings, no beating around the bush. When he leans forward, he's down to business and most of his humor fades. "Well, since you're already saying you won't shed the rest of those clothes and climb on, I want to know what you did. Who that Wayne fellow is and what exactly you did to him."

It's been a long time since she's stepped into a confessional, and Sawyer's no priest. She dips her nose past the rim of her glass, smells the Dharma red before she takes a drink.

"Truth for a truth," he adds. "I call that even. And for what it's worth, I'm not gonna change my mind and banish you." He raises his right hand, mocking a solemn oath. "Scout's honor."

She doubts he's ever been a boy scout, but she'll do it. She's game. A truth for a truth: at this point, what's the worst that could happen? He already knows she killed a man, and he's not asking about anything else she's done. "Wayne was my biological father. He was a mean drunk, but he wasn't much better sober. Get within a five foot radius of him and you could always smell cheap booze and cigarettes. He didn't act anything like a father should, and he beat my mom. Sometimes really bad," she remembers, throat tighter than she expected, "but she always took up for him. Always. Never gave him up once."

Looking at Sawyer, it's hard for her to read his face at first.

He's uncharacteristically quiet for a second or two, just breathing in and then breathing out. "What'd you do to him?"

She raises her chin, folding one arm over the front of her body. "I blew his house up with him inside."

"Damn, Freckles, I never took you for a firebug."

It almost sounds like he's proud of her, and she doesn't know whether to burst into laughter or tears. She points an index finger straight up. "Just once."

"Guess you want what you're due now."

She doesn't waste a second before nodding. "Truth for a truth, Sawyer."

"One time I ran a long con on a pretty lady in your home state. Now I don't know if you know the lingo, firestarter, but a long con is just what it says on the tin. It takes time. You've gotta convince the mark that what you want to do is actually _her_ idea. This woman had gotten a damn lot of money in a divorce. I'd convinced her that it was her and me running cons and making money, but one day I broke the news to her. Told her a sad story about how I was supposed to con her but fell in love and now my partner was coming to kill us both and take the money. Sent her off with her bag full of cash, told her I'd take care of my friend and then meet her in Sioux City. Except that bag didn't have her money in it at all. _I_ left with it. Split it with my partner."

She can't help the unhappy furrow between her eyebrows.

"You asked, Freckles."

"I had no idea you were in Iowa. When was this?"

He shrugs, seemingly careless. "I don't know. About two years or so ago."

"Why do you regret that one? You can't tell me you fell for every woman you conned."

"I don't _know_ , Freckles," he exhales impatiently, voice louder. "Maybe I liked Cass's damn dimples. You got your truth. You satisfied?"

She doesn't flinch at his irritation, but a chill creeps over her. "Cass?"

"That's her. Cassidy."

Her stomach knots, unties itself, and knots again before she can manage another word. "Brown hair, dimples, about my size?"

The flash in his eyes is dangerous. "Sounds close."

It's too crazy to wrap her mind around. She momentarily forgets how necessary it is to breathe. " _You_ conned Cassidy?"

"Son of a bitch," he mutters, putting his wine down on the table beside the bed. "You knew Cass?"

"I met her once. About two years ago. We helped each other out."

"'Course you did," he says dryly.

"You took her life savings, Sawyer." She remembers how eager she was to help Cassidy out after she got a chance to see Diane. And all Cassidy wanted was for one of them to have something nice. "And she _loved_ you."

When he looks at her again he frowns. "Hey, don't you look at me like that. You got the answers you wanted. Or is it all fun and games until you find out you know a woman I conned? With all the running you did, maybe you know more than one."

It's not what he says that stings. It's the thought of Cassidy and the last conversation they had. "She was pregnant."

"Are you as tired as I am of hearing that word?"

"You knew." The realization dawns slowly and lights her face with surprise. "You knew she was pregnant."

"No, I _didn't_ ," he spits out. "I didn't know until over a year later. She came out of nowhere and showed me a picture of a baby. Claimed it was mine."

Glass lowered to her lap, she falls silent.

"You done?" He pushes himself to the edge of the bed and picks up his glass again, drinking all the wine left.

She doesn't know what to say, what to do. She's both furious with him -- so incensed she can taste it like pepper on her tongue -- and reluctant to leave him like this. "I'm done," she finally offers.

He doesn't turn around. "Then I'm hitting the sack. You can stay or you can go, but I'm turning the lamp off so don't let the door hit you."

Sawyer's an angry child when he's mad, loud and lashing out and scowling. She's known that from the day she found his letter, worn from years of unfolding and refolding. After a long moment, she puts her own glass down on the floor near the bed and then crawls over to reach around him and turn off the bedside lamp herself. In the darkness her hand braves his shoulder. "One day I tried to tell Jack what I did."

"Doc?" Disbelief threads through his anger. He doesn't face her, but his head turns. "Wasn't the best idea you ever had, was it."

Half-smiling, she ignores the jab. "He wouldn't let me, Sawyer. He said it didn't matter. That the day we crashed here we were all given a blank slate to work with."

"And you're gonna tell me you believe that?"

"No." She leans against him, her chest against his back. "But I'd like to."

She can tell he's still mad, but he turns, pulling his legs into bed, and halfheartedly pulls the sheet up. His goodnight kiss isn't gentle or sweet, nowhere near chaste, but he reaches for her, wraps his arms around her, and for now he doesn't push his luck.

Her head pillows against his chest as she falls asleep.


End file.
